


By the Skin of His Teeth

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Attempted Gang Bang, Attempted Sexual Assault, Detective Rhys, Hurt/Comfort, Jack to the rescue, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mob Boss Jack, Slurs, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 15:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16957035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: While on his way home from the precinct, Rhys is jumped and kidnapped by a notorious gang—the Psychos—who are out for revenge on the poor detective.But the surprise arrival of notorious mob boss Handsome Jack might throw a wrench in their vile plans.





	By the Skin of His Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Finally finished this detective Rhys kidnapping fic! 
> 
> Please read and heed the warnings on this one, while nothing too far actually happens it does get close and I would recommend not reading this fic if this sort of content may affect you negatively.

Rhys hadn’t been on duty.

In fact, he’d just gotten off of work, deciding to walk home and enjoy the cool air of the late evening. He didn’t live all that far from the precinct, and with his pistol tucked into his holster under his jacket he felt fairly safe, planning to just grab a quite bite to eat before continuing the rest of the way to his apartment. 

But of course, he had to notice a couple of sketchy figures hanging around outside the convenience store, and of course he decided to investigate. He just couldn’t keep it down. 

So he only had himself to blame for this. 

_Well_. The assholes that had kidnapped him and dragged him to their ramshackle lair weren’t exactly guiltless either. 

Rhys growled as he was jostled down the hallway, jeered and prodded by the gang of men. He wrinkled his nose, the already unappealing scents of the men—all alphas and betas, of course—not helped by the grimy, trashed nature of their den. The carpet beneath Rhys’ feet looked dirty and threadbare, almost worn down to the floorboards and spotted with strange stains. 

Rhys’ apartment wasn’t anything special, but he kept it clean and organized and he’d rather be there than anywhere _near_ this place. 

He lost his footing as the pushed him through a door, sprawling onto his ass. His chest heaved as pain lanced through his body, rendering him unable to rise to his feet before a scummy boot pressed onto his shoulder and kicked him back onto the floor. 

“Stay down, bitch.” 

Rhys glared up at the man, keeping a brave, stony face as best he could. He looked messy, wearing only a leather vest thrown over a stained white shirt and a pair of jeans torn around the knees. His red-rimmed eyes watered, like he’d been smoking, and his hair fell in straggly bits over his forehead. 

His companions looked much the same as they fanned out around him, all observing Rhys with low chuckles and snorts. A bunch of low-brow, wannabe gangsters trying to dress the part without the sense or budget. 

_Please_. These guys didn’t have a teaspoon of the panache and class someone like Handsome Jack did—and Jack was a man who preferred an abundance of gaudy layered clothes and bad pickup lines. 

But Rhys still recognized the design of the patches stitched onto the sleeves and backs of their jackets. A skull-like mask with hollow eyes and a circular respirator where the mouth should be. 

_Psychos_. Damn it. 

The Psychos were small-time but the riddled the city like parasites, clustered under every rock and tangentially involved with near every instance of vandalism and petty robbery, though occasionally it escalated. Rhys remembered a particularly trying case from a few months back, in which a young beta had been brutally beaten and mutilated with the gang’s logo. Not many cases drew satisfying conclusions, but Rhys had felt proud of himself when he’d put the man responsible behind bars for good. 

That pride winced a little bit now, as the Psychos advanced upon him, leering in a tight circle. 

“Oh, he’s _pretty_ ,” one of the men grabbed him by the collar and lifted him clean off the ground, blasting Rhys’ nose with foul-smelling breath. “Can’t _wait_ to see what his insides look like.”

Rhys cringed, turning his head away from the vile scent as much as he could. 

“You—you idiots are going to be _sorry_ —“ he hissed, kicking and struggling to get his feet back on the ground. “Assaulting an officer’s gonna get you some _serious_ time!”

Rhys cried out as he was practically thrown across the table, impact almost knocking the wind out of his lungs. He lashed out with his fists and feet, trying to catch one of his captors in the chest or face as they tried pinning him down. To his dismay Shit-Breath’s hands moved from his shirt to press down on his throat. Rhys coughed, fingers clawing at the man’s forearms as he felt the others grab at each of his legs and try to wrestle them under control. Rhys’ eyes widened as he heard an unmistakeable sound—the _creak_ and _rip_ of duct-tape—over the filthy snickers of the gang members. He missed as he kicked out with his heeled boots, and before he could properly aim again two of them forced his calves to fold against his thighs and girded them tightly together with fat rolls of the tape. 

Rhys shouted and swore, forcing intimidation into his voice even as his heart tried to leap out of his throat and escape where he could not. He bucked and struggled against the weight of the men even as Shit-Breath stopped grabbing his throat and flipped him onto his belly. Rhys clawed at the surface of the table before his wrists were yanked behind his back, another gut-renching _rip_ filling the air as they bound his arms together with more duct tape. Finger grasped into his hair and yanked his head back, and before Rhys could let out another shriek or threat a short scrap of tape slapped over his mouth, sealing his lips together. 

“Almost a shame not to hear the little bitch scream out anymore…” One of the slighter men, with a scraggly beard clinging to his long chin, leered down at him as Shit Breath rolled Rhys back over. “Its little shrieks were really getting me horny…”

Rhys tried to keep calmeven as their hands descended onto him, turning his stomach. 

They quickly stripped his jacket off of his shoulder, leaving it to bunch at his taped forearms, but left his holsters strapped around his chest. Rhys glanced down, grimacing when he saw his gun missing. 

“Looking for this?” One of the men laughed, voice high and singsong. Rhys froze as he looked back up to find his own, precinct-issued pistol brandished carelessly in the man’s hand. 

“It’s a cute little piece. Too bad it didn’t help you too much, omega.”

Rhys flinched at the deliberate use of his endotype, though he tried to hide it. Showing weakness in front of these guys was exactly what they wanted. They would exploit every little crack in Rhys’ demeanor if they had the chance. 

He couldn’t do much intimidating as bound up as he was, but he kept his eyes steely and angry and his position still as he watched the other alphas circle around him, looming close over the desk. 

“Rhys Somerset…” Ripped Jeans murmured, prodding at the badge pinned to Rhys’ chest. “Such an _illustrious_ member of the HPD deserves proper treatment…”

“I’ll say.” One-Eye pinched at Rhys’ cheek. “Aren’t you the one who’s been bagging all them arrests lately? Recognize this pretty face from the papers…”

“Ain’t he the guy who put Flynt behind bars for one measly little mutilating?” Shit-Breath sneered and shook his head. “Such a waste…all ‘cause you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut.”

One-Eye tapped the tape stuck over Rhys’ lips. 

“Guess that’s why we had to do it for him.” They all laugh. One-Eye trails off, voice sudden humorless as he harshly grabs Rhys’ face, fingers sinking painfully into his cheeks. 

“Too bad….it’s not gonna be so funny what happens to you…” 

Rhys shuddered, trying to push all the possibilities of _what_ exactly these men would do to him from his mind. He couldn’t panic. He _had_ to get a way out of this. The alternative was—

The alternative was not an option. Not if he wanted to live with himself. 

“Aw, I don’t think he likes the sound of that,” Ripped Jeans mocked, running fingers back through his greasy hair. “Poor thing.” 

“You better not _actually_ start feeling sorry for him,” One-Eye growled, nails cutting a little into Rhys’ cheek. “We wanna make the bitch _bleed_.” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Scraggly cackled, practically hopping in place. “I wanna see it _hurt_ , wanna cut it open and touch it inside—“

“Not yet,” Ripped Jeans countered, chapped lips pulling in a smirk. “I wanna have some fun before we kill him.”

Rhys whined as the Psycho grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him off the table. Rhys’ spine dragged along the edge as he was pulled off onto the floor. His head knocked against the leg of the table, causing colors to pop in his vision. He slumped against the ground, half propped up as Ripped Jeans held him by the ankles, keeping them spread apart. 

“How ‘bout we cut off your legs and make you a lil’ pet, huh?” The man leered in close, yellowed teeth parted. “That way you can’t run. Just hobble ‘round on stumps.”

Rhys twitched as another of his captors crouched besides him, bending the omega forward until he wedged himself behind. Rhys tipped his chin up to find One-Eye smirking down at him. The same fingers that’d scratched his cheek returned to cup his face.

“Maybe break your jaw…so we can fuck your pretty mouth without worrying about biting.” He gripped Rhys’ chin tightly, fingers digging in so hard it hurt. He grit his teeth behind the tape, humiliation and fear running hot through his veins.

He couldn’t believe this was happening. He’d been in his fair share of distressing situations before—some in the line of duty, some on his days off, some even at the precinct—but never had he felt so damn _helpless_. He wracked his brain for a way out even as the alphas clustered back around him, expressions growing crueler and hungrier by the second. 

“Such a cute little slut…bet the other pigs love passing you around. Probably why they even keep you working there.” One-Eye’s other hand slid around Rhys’ torso to settle on his chest. Fingers dug into the meat of his pec, giving it a rough squeeze that had Rhys groaning through his taped lips. 

“Some don’t like anyone but lady omegas, say your kind aren’t as soft but…dunno what they’re talking about.” One-Eye continued groping Rhys’ chest and rubbing his nipple through the thin fabric of his uniform, wringing unwilling feelings in Rhys’ belly. He squirmed against the floor, shoving away any thoughts of arousal as these alphas touched him. _No_. He _refused_. He knew what he wanted didn’t matter to these men but the least he could do was escape the indignity of getting off on what they might do to him. 

“I wanna fuck its hole,” Scraggly slavered, leaning over Rhys’ prone body. “I wanna watch it _bleed_ …gonna feel _so good_. C’mon.” 

“Yeah? How you gonna get the pants off? If we try to get that tape off, he’ll struggle more.” One Eye countered, hands still groping Rhys’ chest. “Best to just use his mouth for now.”

“Can’t we just kneecap him so he can’t escape?” Shit-Breath offered, hefting Rhys’ pistol in hand and aiming it at one of his legs. Rhys groaned from behind the tape, unsure if this guy had put the safety back on. 

Instead of saying anything, Ripped Jeans just tutted at his companions and flicked a rusty blade up out of its black handle, spotted metal glinted in the dim light above as it dropped between Rhys’ legs. He felt pressure against the crotch of his pants, where the fabric stretched tight thanks to the spread position of his thighs. He jerked in One-Eye’s grip as the knife pressed into his pants, audibly popping through. Rhys flinched, the tip of the knife nicking his ass as Ripped Jeans cut a long slit through his uniform slacks and boxers. 

_No_. 

“Problem solved,” the man laughed. Rhys could feel his fingers as they grabbed the slit in his pants, tearing it wider. He shivered and closed his eyes, unwilling to endure the lecherous look on Ripped Jeans’ face as he exposed Rhys’ hole through the gash in the fabric. 

_No!_

He tried struggling again, flailing his bound legs and trying to knock his head back against One-Eye’s chin. Rhys hoped maybe he could wriggle free if he smacked his captor hard enough to get him to release his grip, but his head only brushed up against the man’s collar, with not enough force to do any meaningful damage. He bit his lip as they laughed at him. Hands grabbed at his thighs and pulled until his spine lay flat with the floor, only his head and shoulders now resting in One-Eye’s lap. Something warm and solid pressed up against his cheek as rough fingers pushed back through the rip in his pants and touched the quivering flesh of his hole. He could feel the slick gathering there, his body’s last, humiliating attempt to protect itself.

Rhys screamed from behind the tape, losing the last grasp on dignity as his eyes finally welled up with warm tears. 

_Stop it, please, stop!_

A sudden _bang_ cut across Rhys’ frenzied thoughts, and it took him a moment to identify it as the sound of the door slamming open. His panic abated by a fraction when the fingers threatening to push inside him jerked away from his ass. 

“You guys—he’s _here_.”

Rhys heard panting, a new voice, the sound of the door’s hinges creaking closed. He kept his eyes closed, afraid to let the tears spill over should he open them. Instead he listened, still struggling against the hold of the two Psychos. 

“Who’s here?” One-Eye spoke, angry spittle misting on Rhys’ forehead. His clothed groin still pushed against the omega’s face as he shifted position on the floor. 

“H…Handsome Jack…”

“ _What_?” Voices from all around the room rang in disbelief. One-Eye sat up on his knees, nearly jostling Rhys from his lap. The omega hardly noticed, his entire body gone numb even as his heart leapt in his chest. 

“Handsome Jack is _here_? But why?” Shit-Breath’s rough voice growled out somewhere to Rhys’ right. Heavy shoes scuffled around the floor, the sounds of movement and curses hissed under breath spinning all around him. Rhys felt dizzy at the sudden revelation, emotions cycling between elation and horror. 

He knew Jack was a violent criminal—Rhys had witnessed far too many examples of his handiwork during his time as a detective to deny that. The man relished in brutal efficiency and repaid everything from incompetence to betrayal with some of the most gruesomely creative kills Rhys had ever seen. Honestly, Jack was probably responsible for a lot more of the heinous activity in Helios than the men currently keeping Rhys captive. 

Yet he would rather face Jack than any of these monsters. 

A loud knock on the door quieted the whispering in the room. The floorboards creaked under shuffling feet, hesitation evident in the silence. Rhys’ pulse thumped hard and full of sudden hope, and as soon as one of the Psychos decided to open the door he finally dared to let his eyes slip open. 

Jack stood in the doorframe, bulk broad and imposing especially from Rhys’ position pinned to the floor. He could make out the long jacket accentuating Jack’s frame, sheathing him in clean black that stood out against the dingy hallway behind him. Through the blur of tears in Rhys’ eyes it was hard to read Jack’s expression, to see how he reacted to the sight before him—to the denigrated state of the omega he enjoyed calling his rival. 

As Jack looked over the room, Rhys remembered the hole in his pants and the compromising position he’d been forced in, and suddenly his relief at seeing the alpha here began to ebb, replaced by humiliation. He shuddered as Jack walked in through the doorframe, the alpha’s lips set in a firm line and footfalls heavy against the flimsy floorboards. Rhys wiggled again in the grip of his captors, expecting Jack to do something but he stayed still, hands stowed in the pockets of his jacket. 

“Well well…” Shit-Breath started up, finally breaking the silence. He walked over to Jack, hobbling with faux nonchalance. Jack turned his gaze, looking at the Psycho with a flat expression.

“Handsome Jack! ‘Bout time you came around for a visit.” Shit-Breath feigned nudging Jack with his elbow, like they were long-time friends. Jack kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, though his eyebrow raised. 

“You kinda….caught us at an interestin’ time, didn’t ya?” Shit-Breath jerked his thumb towards Rhys. “You see, we caught some HPD scum snoopin’ around **.** Now, I ‘member the headlines. Didn’t this slut bust your balls over runnin’ Eridium outta that Hyperion club?”

Jack’s eyes drifted back to where Rhys lay on the floor. He looked at him sidelong, squinting slightly. Rhys swallowed roughly. _Why hadn’t Jack said anything?_ Usually the alpha was all about striking up a hearty banter with Rhys, whether he liked it or not. But Jack only stared at him. Rhys felt his stomach turn, disturbed. 

“So we was just about to try him out…have some fun…but it’d be rude not to offer first dibs to such an honored guest, right?” Shit-Breath said to the rest of his gang, who mumbled in agreement. One Eye’s hands lifted from groping Rhys’ chest to merely settle on his shoulders, and Ripped Jeans pushed up in a slight crouch, leaving room for Jack. 

But the mob boss stood in place, looking not towards any of the Psychos, but still fixed right at Rhys. As the omega watched, Jack’s eyed roved from his bound legs to his slashed pants, then up to his opened shirt and finally, to Rhys’ bruised, begging face. Thought works behind that piercing gaze, and for a moment Rhys’ heart stilled, frozen by the man he’d gone toe-to-toe with for the better part of his career.

_“You know,” Rhys hissed and narrowed his eyes at the mob boss, offered drink still untouched on the bar. “I’m pretty sure I could fill your rap sheet entirely with bad pick-up lines. You’re a real menace.”_

_“Aww, no need to put up such a fight, sugar.” The corner of Jack’s mouth rose with his suggestive eyebrow as he leaned forward, chin in hand_. _“It’ll be more fun if you play along…but I’m not worried. I’ll get my hands on you one way or another.”_

Rhys’ heartbeat quickened under Jack’s focused gaze, the memory floating to the surface. Every time Jack had openly lusted after him. Joked about how badly he wanted to touch him. Deliberately pushed Rhys’ buttons and relished in his reaction. 

And the Psychos were serving him up to Jack on a silver platter. 

No. _No_. He _wouldn’t_. The Jack he tangled with could be cruel, selfish, _violent_ , but he didn’t—there was no way—

Panic welled back up in Rhys’ throat, choking him. He didn’t know if he could breath so long as Jack kept looking at him. 

“Whaddaya say?” Shit-Breath grinned, gesturing to Rhys’ spread legs with the gun. “Go on, Handsome. Take a crack at him.”

Jack’s lip twitched, the glint of fangs visible beneath when he finally spoke up.

“Thanks. I think I will.”

Jack moved so fast Rhys’ couldn’t follow him, not with his vision blurry with tears, but he _heard_ the wet gurgle as Jack shot his elbow right into Shit-Breath’s throat and dropped him to the floor like a sack of rancid meat. The room suddenly exploded into noise as the other men shouted and jumped at the surprise attack, though everything sounded underwater to Rhys as he watched Jack move to snatch the pistol falling from Shit-Breath’s hand. 

Scraggly let out a wild scream a split second before Jack plugged him in the chest, cutting off his war cry with a bloody wheeze. Before his body even hit the ground Jack turned back to shoot Shit-Breath in the bruised throat, just as he started trying to push himself back up. 

Ripped Jeans leapt up from his crouch and flicked his knife in Jack’s direction, nicking the alpha’s cheek before embedding in the wall behind him. Just as he pulled out the second knife out of its sheath Jack clocked him across the face with the butt of the pistol before jamming it between his yellow teeth and firing. The nameless Psycho tried to jump him from behind, only to fall from a wound in the stomach.

One-Eye moved abruptly out from under Rhys’ head as Ripped Jeans slid in a bloody trail down the wall, leaving the omega’s skull to thump back against the leg of the chair. Rhys cried out at the impact, then again when Jack whipped the pistol around to aim directly at him. His eyes widened, but the bullet Jack fired didn’t strike him dead, instead punching right through One-Eye’s remaining socket and blasting gory brain out the back of his skull. Rhys flinched, hot blood splattering his face and chest as the dead man slumped besides him, oozing from the hole in his face. 

Rhys’ eyes snapped from the corpse back to Jack he now walked towards him, floorboards creaking beneath his boots. He still held Rhys’ pistol in hand as he knelt down before him, but just as Rhys shirked away from the sight of the blood-flecked firearm, Jack turned it downwards and stowed it back into Rhys’ holster. 

“Are you all right?” Jack’s expression was still tight with anger, but not towards Rhys. In fact it’d already begun to dissipate from his eyes now that he sat face to face with the omega, replaced with something softer. A look Rhys hasn’t seen before, that makes him wish they were anywhere else—in Jack’s club, at the precinct, _anywhere_ but the filthy gangster’s hideout. 

Rhys flinches as finger brush up against his cheek, at the edge of the tape stuck over his mouth. Jack stares at it, like he could burn it off with the intensity of his glare. 

Rhys only noticed now, as Jack touched him, that the alpha’s hands were gloved, coated in leather warmed both from their stay in his jacket pocket as well as the heat of the pistol. 

“Lemme get this shit off of you,” Jack murmured, producing a folding knife from his interior coat pocket. The blade was sharp, well oiled and cared for, and it made quick work of the tape binding Rhys’ calves to his thighs. 

The omega moaned in relief as he finally relaxed his legs, letting them slide free against the floor. Jack held his shoulder firmly as he leaned Rhys forward enough to get at the arms bound behind his back, slicing sideways through the tape and letting his cramped limbs fall free. 

“There you go…just one more, ‘kay?” Jack whispered, tucking the knife back into his pocket before stroking the frayed edges of the tape plastered across Rhys’ mouth. “This might hurt a little more than the others. That fine?”

Rhys nodded a little too quickly. He just wanted the fucking thing _off_ already. 

Jack didn’t waste any time, ripping the tape clean off Rhys’ face. The omega gasped at the sudden sting, but such a small pain couldn’t hold a candle to the relief that washed over him as he could finally _breathe_ unhindered. 

“There. Much better. Much, much better.” Jack cupped his face, still keeping him close, warmth radiating from the alpha’s body, and Rhys can’t take it any more. He tried to breath out but it caught on his lungs and he started to hiccup, his entire body shuddering as he dissolved to tears. 

It felt shameful to cry in front of a menace like Jack—a criminal alpha, the man he’d been trying to put behind bars for nearly a year now—but Rhys had been dragged through humiliation so many times tonight he couldn’t be bothered to hold it back. He wept, tears trailing openly down his face, lips chuffing with rough sobs. It stung the open cuts and tender bruising on his cheek, dripping over the damp red spots where the tape had stuck to his skin. 

Solid hands pressed against Rhys’ back, gentling him forward into Jack’s embrace. Despite himself and his pride, Rhys buried his nose against the alpha’s shoulder, inhaling his scent in short, desperate breaths.

Jack, thankfully, didn’t say anything. Rhys wasn’t sure he could suffer any further indignity if the alpha decided to comment on his current weakness. 

Before Rhys fully realized what was happening the ground was far away and fuzzy. His feet dangled limply in the air, back and knees supported by Jack’s strong arms. The alpha cradled him against his chest, letting Rhys’ head rest against his shoulder. 

The omega closed his eyes tightly as Jack briskly walked out the room and down the hallway, leaving the stench of blood and filth behind. Rhys’ fingers shyly grasped against the lapel of Jack’s coat, anchoring himself though he knew the alpha wouldn’t let him fall. 

Jack’s chest rumbled with a low shout as soon as they exited out into the cold. Rhys’ eyes fluttered open to spy a strip of sidewalk, the shiny sides of a black car, a broad pale hand opening up the passenger seat door before Jack slipped him carefully inside. 

The whole cab of the car smelled like leather and Jack, the man’s scent expanding to fill the space, making it feel less claustrophobic. Rhys breathed easier here, settled in the middle seat with Jack sitting at his left, arm draped round the omega’s shoulders. They even sat isolated from Jack’s driver, the front seat separated from the back by a pane of glass not much unlike those found in taxis. 

Rhys’ head continued to rest against Jack’s shoulder, too tired and shaken to pull himself away from the alpha like he usually did. He closed his eyes again, ready to let the night’s events fade into memory.

“Where are you taking me?” He whispered, voice hurt from his earlier cries. Jack’s palm rubbed his shoulder, warm and large and comforting. 

“Somewhere safe, pumpkin. Don’t worry.” Rhys felt he _should_ probably worry, considering the man he knew Jack was, but an odd calm radiates from his stomach at the alpha’s words, and as his consciousness slowly slips and wavers he can place it as only one thing—

— _Trust_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you thought of this, and if you'd like to see an aftermath fic where Jack and Rhys deal with what happened.


End file.
